


Pathetically Small

by ExploretheEcccentricities



Category: Rapunzel's Tangled Adventure (Cartoon)
Genre: Angry Varian (Disney), Angst, Cassandra's POV, Child Neglect, Gen, Hurt No Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Mental Breakdown, There is a little comfort watch out, There's also something strange, Trauma, We did it we broke the boy, Who else has lost it, as always no beta we die like men, yeet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-09
Updated: 2020-07-09
Packaged: 2021-03-04 17:49:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25160413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ExploretheEcccentricities/pseuds/ExploretheEcccentricities
Summary: Cassandra uses the mind-trap to force Quirin into spying on Varian...and sees some things she had no business seeing. (OR Varian finally gets fed up and loses it. Why can't the world just be nice to him?)Takes place...before Once a Handmaiden, I guess. It can really fit anywhere after Race to the Spire.DARK (and it has cursing)
Relationships: Cassandra & Varian (Disney: Tangled), Quirin & Varian (Disney)
Comments: 27
Kudos: 170





	Pathetically Small

**Author's Note:**

> I was experimenting. Let the boy get angry.
> 
> WARNING: Cursing! Lots of it because it's Cass and Varian and poor Quirin is stuck in between.  
> Also bullying.  
> Also pain.  
> Also Varian isn't...crazy???  
> Also I don't hate Quirin. Varian's just angry and Cass has the privilege to witness it first-hand (ish).

The mind is a scarily small place, and yet, with a warrior at her fingertips, never has she felt so powerful.

Cassandra frowns as she closes her eyes tightly, squinting and struggling to direct her every ounce of control into her task. In her hands, she clutches the cold jagged stone tightly as it glows in the pale moonlight and exudes the musty remnants of ancient magic with powerful pulses that quiver through her being, rustling through the fading glimmers of her doubt as it swivels into her mind’s eye in an electrifying jolt, a euphoric and almost intoxicating joy at wielding so much power.

This…this was her destiny. Not in being a soldier for Corona, but rather, having soldiers of her own.

She knows Varian will be a threat first. After all, it is he that seems to anticipate and understand her every move, her whims, her thoughts. It is he that tried to tell her to back down, in fear that she would end up like him. Well, he was sorely mistaken.

Varian hadn’t been good enough leverage during the kidnapping, but it seems the boy has found it best to never question his worth to the monarchy again. Cassandra scoffs to herself. Well, unlike Varian, she would win. Unlike Varian, she would make Rapunzel learn, withered and powerless at her feet, that she came second to no one.

Currently around midnight, Cassandra tries the Mind Trap for the third time. It is not so easy as she had originally thought, but with practice, she has come to know the individuals she has now compelled to fight for her every need, she has come to know when she begins to lose her grip on a warrior’s mind, she has come to master kicking down and tearing apart every shred of resistance that dares to arise.

Cassandra first thinks that this can be a test run. Hector and Adira had slept long ago. Because Quirin would only be near Varian, and had most likely be awake, she would be able to catch a glimpse of Varian’s works-or, if she really wanted to test how well she could manipulate this one person, talk to Varian himself. The plan is to only watch Varian from a distance. She didn’t see the point in hurting him unnecessarily.

The boy is apparently awake at this hour (what else did she expect?), tinkering with and constructing something-a gun of sorts, it seems. Cassandra frowns, trying to get the man to properlysee what he’s working on, but alas, the slivers of Quirin’s conscious thoughts begin tugging at her, prodding her and trying to slither out of her grasp.

She groans in slight pain, fists clenching as she tries to recall the tips her new ‘friend’ had taught her. Steeling herself and inhaling with finality, Cassandra pushes every bit of willpower into stemming and stomping down at the father’s sentiments, crushing the slight glee that she feels when Varian continues working without knowing what is happening.

“I’m going to sleep, Dad, I promise. I just need to finish this little thing Eugene gave me a great idea for.”

Cassandra raises her brow as she is allowed a full vantage point of the object-most definitely a gun. She is about to scoff, dismiss the starry-eyed kid for forgetting that nothing could break her armor, when her thoughts freeze in their place and her blood runs cold upon seeing something she never thought she would see again. Into the gun, Varian proudly yet carefully pours amber-the very amber solution that had encased his father-and locks the mechanism tight.

Unable to stop herself, she forces Quirin’s tongue, ensuring she allows a little control so that his eyes do not fully glow yet. She doesn’t want Varian to know his dad is a puppet…yet. “What-what is that for?” His voice comes out less gravelly, and Cassandra prepares for Varian to notice something is off with his tone.

Varian seems mostly unfazed by the man’s strange demeanor, giving him a quick glance and a small smile. Were her eyes open, Cassandra would have rolled them hard.

“It’s Project Obsidian. It’s a device that will destroy Cassandra if she ever tries to hurt Rapunzel or the gang again.” Varian explains, not looking up from his work.

The words hit her, leaving her reeling with a momentary bout of shock, and her breath hitches. She had known her actions would cause alarm, and people would be getting restless knowing about the things she could now do…but never had she thought that Rapunzel would go so far as to condone killing her.

“Why-what makes you think she’ll do that?” She chooses to ask, a pensive disappointment finding its way into her heart and wringing it of the little hope she had preserved.

Varian gives his father a strange look, and for a moment, Cassandra fears Varian can see her behind his father’s eyes, lurking in the depths of his mind, pulling strings and pushing buttons that ought not to be touched. She later berates herself for being overcome by the notion-it was she who had the power, didn’t she? Varian was pathetically small, and utterly harmless like this.

“Dad, I told you about what happened at the Tower. It’s simply a precaution.” He says, pausing from where his finger shad been caressing the barrel. He sighs dolefully. “Believe me, I don’t want to hurt Cass either, but we can’t promise that she won’t try to hurt us.”

…Oh, fuck everything.

“Damn right you can’t.” Cassandra growls, the sudden swell of anger uncontainable as the urge broils to the surface and singes her heart, crumpling and throwing out the little self-restraint she had to replace it with free torrent of her frustrations culminating again. 

Varian freezes and whips around, the brief confusion fleeing from his face and being awashed with pure, unadulterated terror. The blush of his cheeks drains, his eyes widening and lips parting slowly, his hands slowly raising in an attempt of peace-or was it self-defense?- as he drops the project, left forgotten. Cassandra realizes that she has gained full control once more-Quirin’s eyes must be shining a brilliant pale blue.

“D-Dad?” Varian stutters out breathlessly, unable to mask the sheer horror and despair starting to rise in his voice, his azure eyes frantic as they flit over his father’s form.

Cassandra chooses to hold Quirin’s tongue for a moment, watching the boy from her perch before deciding to act. Varian was too dangerous for his own good, and she needed to keep that danger out of the way. She could have Quirin bring him to her. She could keep Varian locked away. That way, Rapunzel wouldn’t have any other means to fight her.

Cassandra forces Quirin’s arm to stretch out in an unblinking instant, his large fingers latched securely around Varian’s scrawny upper arm. The boy instantly jolts and tugs, clawing at the man and protesting loudly.

“Dad! Wait, Dad! What are you-“

The boy stubbornly ground his heels into the ground as best as he can despite his father’s strength, and Quirin grunts as Varian pushes a little too roughly for someone his size.

Growling in frustration and impatience, Cassandra pushes away the pain before it can slither into Quirin’s unconscious mind and awaken any emotion, instead pushing another command of her own into the father’s unwilling mind.

Immediately, Quirin throws his arms around the boy and hauls him off of his feet altogether, managing to trap one of his arms against his stomach and allowing the other to scramble as it tires to drill the blunt nails into the father’s skin and hit back at whatever part of his face he can reach. Varian’s cries only escalate, mingled with fear and panic. “No! No, Dad! Please stop! That hurts!”

Despite becoming louder, the force of Varian’s voice begins to weaken, shriveling under the incoming weight of stifled tears and weaning hope as his father remains unmoved by his cries. Cassandra’s head pounds, and sweat beads at her brow when she tries to press her commands into Quirin’s ears and divert the thoughts away from where they try to drill arrows into Quirin’s mind, trying to stem the flow of Varian’s desperate cries and pleas before they trickle into the father’s heart and reawaken something much stronger than his conscience. Just a little longer. Quirin will bring Varian to her, and she would be able to deal with him herself.

And then, Varian’s voice rebounds with a different strength, higher and more shrill yet steeled with a firm demand to be heard. “Dad, _you’re hurting me_!”

Suddenly, Cassandra finds herself staring at the floor of Varian’s room, with her puppet brought to his knees and writhing futilely as both of his arms struggle from where they are trapped to the ground in alchemical goo. Before she can fully process what has happened, Varian is kneeling in front of him-no, her, for she is still in control of Quirin’s mind. He leans forward and waves his hand awkwardly, his eyes alight with unbridled panic and guilt. Cassandra notices his amber gun lying on the floor next to him…would he have used it on his own father again?

“Dad? Daddy, is that you?” Cassandra presses her lips into a thin line as she forces Quirin to struggle, to move in his position.

“What-what’s wrong, Dad? What’s gotten into you?” Varian’s voice gets more annoying by the minute-once again, playing the innocent, wide-eyed child instead of the psychopath and double-standard cheat he really was. The self-righteous prat had intended to kill her. All this talk about not wanting to hurt her, and understanding her anger, and believing that she was good at heart-it had all been a lie. The need to lash out her unchecked rage fuels Cassandra, sets her aflame with spite and thirst for retribution.

The longer Cassandra holds Quirin’s tongue, the quicker the tears shimmering in Varian’s sorrowful, sepulchral eyes threats to spill over the brim and cascade down his pale cheeks.

Good, Cassandra thinks with a morbid sense of satisfaction, empowering and entrancing. She wants to see Varian cry, she wants to see him hurt, she wants to wipe that smug little grin and confident little stride, burn his resolve to the core-she wants Varian to feel as she does right now. She allows her darkness, her unrestrained anger, every small and great thing she has remembered of Varian to drive her, compel and guide the sword she now wields and the weight with which she can crush his every last minute of joy with the one he loves most before she skewers him in all the right places.

“It must be the moonstone-“ Cassandra hears Varian whisper, before an ugly sob wrenches itself from his throat, echoing into the stunned silence and only broken by Quirin’s grunts as he tries to escape the goo. Varian throws himself at the man, wrapping one arm around his neck and the other around his shoulder as though it will anchor the man as much as it seems to anchor him, in this thoughtless and futile hope that his father would respond to his movements, his unspoken agonies, his actions. Cassandra wonders if Eugene and Rapunzel had bothered to tell Varian about the Mind Trap-although, from the looks of things, he must have figured it out right now. To some extent.

“Daddy, it’s me. It’s your son, Varian.” Varian speaks quieter than before, his voice laced with shuddering breaths as he only pulls away to examine the glowing eyes.

Cassandra’s heart sinks as Quirin’s tries to awaken, and the man’s thoughts become stronger, twisting and writhing and clawing at Cassandra’s strong hold as they desperately try to rise to the surface, trying to gravitate freely towards the light that is his son’s voice in the abyss of mindlessness, lovelessness, nothingness that Cassandra persistently condemns him to, if only she can get out of this substance-

“You-you have to snap out of this for me.” Varian encourages desperately, the tears now freely cascading down his cheeks. “You know you don’t want to do this. I-I love you so much. And you love me too. _You do_.” Varian hugs him again, burying his face against his shoulder as his voice heightens, punctuated with sobs. “You love me, and Mama, and Corona and Ruddiger and pumpkins, far more than you love that _rock_.” He spits out the word in venomous disgust.

Cassandra almost smiles despite herself. That _rock_ was one step on a steady climb to her true destiny-wielding the ultimate power. That _rock_ could do far more than Varian have it credit for. That _rock_ was going to see all of her rivals fall to their knees before her.

“I love you.” Varian whispers again, pulling back to examine Quirin’s eyes more thoroughly. "I love you, and I forgive you for-for trying to protect me, even if it meant that I had to be alone, and learn my lesson by myself." Cassandra frowns at the odd way Varian phrases his words, slightly unsettled even as he relentlessly clutches his father for dear life. "-and you know that but the only reason you're under this enchantment is because you haven't forgiven yourself."

Cassandra allows the growing voice in Quirin’s mind to take control of the moment, allowing it to gush and bleed freely into his being, enlivening his senses as the man blinks back at his boy with his normal, soft brown orbs. “I love you too, Varian.”

Varian stares back, hands quaking and eyes searching inside Quirin’s own-and Cassandra once again feels the uncomfortable way Varian’s inquisitive, calculating eyes burn back at her without knowing he is actually looking at someone else, crawling over and salvaging every little familiar thing he can of a man he thinks he knows very well.

Sure enough, Varian slowly reaches into his pocket and pulls out the neutralizing alchemy ball, throwing it onto the goo holding Quirin’s arms down. Judging by Quirin’s scattered thoughts as she tries to re-orient herself, Cassandra assumes the man has no idea of what just happened. Out of his own volition, his mind still numb and puddled from the dominance of another, Cassandra watches from Quirin’s point of view as he slowly, shakily hugs his son back, and Varian melts into the embrace, allowing himself to sink fully against the man with pure and absolute trust. The boy, though having grown since she had last seen him, looks so pathetically small against his father.

A hollow feeling suddenly bolsters in Cassandra when she realizes she cannot feel the warmth of the hug, instead watching and imagining with some frivolous, distant notion- a secret and sweet memory she has adamantly locked away of her younger self hugging her own father. Sullenly recalling every minute detail of her once-beloved father, Cassandra thinks of what Varian must feel right now, in this man’s embrace-this man, a father, a puppet, a warrior who will further her cause. The peaceful lull of a secure comfort as those strong arms wound around his small form, the surety as those practiced hands rub along his back and weave through his hair, the soft fabric curling and smoothening under the desperate clutches of his bare fingertips, the warm skin he can rest his cheek against, knowing the heart that lay underneath it beat only for him.

She allows Quirin to pull away only slightly, allows him to smile as Varian stares up at him with tear-filled eyes, sniffling and still shaken by the terror of what had just occurred. She allows him to stay like this, even as every inch of her skin begins to tingle with newfound rage and sorrow, crawling and burning and squeezing every drop of affection she’s ever managed to coax out of her father and cupping it between her palms the way Quirin cups Varian’s face between his, a bitter puddle of tears that only show her an unrepentant and unyielding reflection of what she has become-who she must be now, in her dear father’s eyes. She watches, with envy and dread and morose nostalgia, as Varian grasps his father’s hand desperately, holding it to his face and leaning in as he breathes something between a sigh of relief and a small yet undeniably _joyful_ chuckle.

Her father-the captain-the man who had lied to her all her life, who had commanded her to surrender and turned her down rather than answer to her desperate needs-had embraced her in another time, another place…and it has never felt more wrong to watch Varian savor it here, violating a sacred and sanctified moment between the two individuals from whom she can take away everything.

“My lovely boy. My dearest, darling boy.” She allows Quirin to praise, and the woman swallows away the bile rising in her throat. “I love you, Varian.” She allows at last, and gently forces Quirin’s hands to leave where they had been caressing his child’s face. 

In one swift and sudden second, Cassandra forces Quirin’s hand to lash at the traitorous face with a powerful backhand. Varian’s frail figure jerks dangerously as it swiftly snaps his head to the side and nearly off his shoulders, a gasp of pain escaping his lips and one arm flying back against the floor to brace himself as he instantly coils back. The echo of the slap resonates loudly across the room, fading and lapsing into a tense silence only broken by Varian’s harsh, quick breaths.

“As much as anyone can love a rock.” Cassandra grinds out with gruesome satisfaction, relishing in the utter power she feels just _watching_ Varian’s wide eyes stare uncomprehendingly at the ground, his face still turned away from the force of the slap and held at an awkward angle to his neck, his wayward strands of unruly hair obscuring much of his face, his hand pressed against his doubtlessly throbbing cheek, his heart wilted and singed beyond recognition, the comfort and serenity of the moment abruptly snatched away and poured greedily into her mouth as she cackles to herself, though of course it goes unheard to the boy. Slightly miffed at Varian’s lack of reaction (and the fact that she wants to catch a clearer, fuller view of his heartbreak), Cassandra raises Quirin’s hand quickly, forcing the fingers that had so tenderly grazed his boy’s hair but a moment before to lock ruthlessly under Varian’s jaw, snapping the boy’s face towards her. Cassandra is now a master, and by _God_ , she loves this, this power she feels at watching Varian’s glazed, unthinking eyes stare back at her devoid of light, of the love and trust they had so foolishly flaunted mere seconds ago.

The master transforms and devolves her puppet in the eyes of her victim, curling his lips upward into a cruel and demented smile, breathing fire into his eyes so that they can bluster and flicker with the deranged and unrestrained contempt she feels, the rage with which she will rub salt in the wound, press her foot to a broken bone. She finishes her work, her masterpiece, her accomplishment with a deadly yet soft whisper, content in its scathing edge as it drills into the boy’s deflated eyes and greedily gauges out whatever feeble hope he had spared to feed off of. “As much as any father can love his pathetic little screw-up of a son.”

The father-no, she, Cassandra- towers above the boy she has broken, sneering down at what is left of the boy who had tried to kill her, the boy who had thought that he could talk her out of her greater destiny when he himself had failed, the boy who had been willing to kill her yet again.

Cassandra is about to turn back, withdraw from the man’s mind and allow him to recollect himself, perhaps even laugh in amusement as he processes what happened. She forces the man to stand, still maintaining a soulless eye contact with the boy he had crushed.

That being said, she definitely does not expect for Varian to leap to his feet along with her-no, him, his father, Quirin-and strikes him along the head with the barrel of his fucking gun.

Her puppet stumbles, grunts in surprise at the shockwave of pain surges through his head, temporarily blinding Cassandra as she struggles to grab back the reigns and push him into control again.

When she manages to calm things, she notices Varian standing firm and tall-well, as tall as he can in front of that brickhouse of a father, that is. In comparison, the boy is still pathetically small. Despite the slight and barely perceptible trembling in his legs, his feet remain grounded, his hands straight and stiff away from his sides, his right hand quaking from where it grips the barrel of his gun so hard his knuckles are white, his face upturned as his eyes drill back into her-him-with a pronounced and unleashed flame she has never seen before, not even as he crushed her in the grips of his metal giants. The fire blossoming in his eyes and crawling into the way his lips tighten, his nose scrunched and his cheeks flushed, is open and free, as though a sleeping soul was set alight and abruptly shaken from the soothing lull of slumber, angry it had been awakened and refusing to be put to rest again.

Cassandra does not know whether to gawk in disgust or chuckle in amusement despite the way her blood runs cold at the unnatural, unfamiliar darkness lingering in the boy’s eyes. The hypocritical little sprite is _angry_ he had just received his rightful due!

What he says next jars her to the core.

Varian- starry-eyed, stumbling-over-his-own-toes, happy-to-help, co-lady-in-waiting Varian- spits out the very thought coursing through her mind in a low, controlled voice, with eyes never leaving his father’s-no, her own: “You fucking hypocrite.”

Speechless, Cassandra grips the Mind Trap harder, not knowing how to respond and yet not willing to back down so soon.

Varian turns his face, and she sees the dark, deep purple bruise throbbing, pulsing as infuriately as he against the pale skin. “I don’t understand this.” He hisses now, the muscles in his face visibly tightening as he scowls, as though he has swallowed something bitter. “I don’t-I don’t understand _you_. You have other loyalties now. You have other loyalties, and they don’t _matter_.” He says this with a detached, almost uncaring tone, as though it is simply an observation, the confirmation of a theory he had tried to prove wrong time and time again. His brows furrow in thought as he furiously wipes at his face, swiping away tears despite how they continue spill smoothly and steadily down his face. “I-I never mattered, did I?”

Cassandra only stares back along with the father, whose mind is numb of all thought and yet unable to be bent to her will. Was Varian talking to Quirin? Did Varian know what was going on? What was he on about? She and Quirin stand painfully still and painfully useless, the father-no, the puppet- still reeling from the blow and the woman-no, the master- still trying to figure out how to force Quirin to respond. Cassandra’s mind whirs under the burning weight of Varian’s eyes, and yet they find no reprieve. It appears Quirin’s mind is too stunned to obey her commands.

“But no, the fault was mine, wasn’t it?” Varian continues, encouraged and infuriated by the silence. “For having faith in you, for believing that somehow you would think I was more important than whatever you thought my pain was worth waiting for, for believing you had changed. You didn’t change. Nothing has changed.” Varian brings a hand to his face, curling it against his lips, and Cassandra realizes he is trying to stifle his trembles, his sobs, his agonies for moments more. “I-I was the only one who had to change, didn’t I? I was the one who had to stop having faith in my family and friends, I was the one who had to grow up and take all the responsibility. You-you don’t even have to listen to me, or make up for just how much of a pathetic screw-up of a father you really are." Varian barks out a laugh then-an unhinged, hollow, mirthless laugh that sounds almost maniacal as he stares up at the ceiling in thought, placing a hand on his hip. “You-you would rather listen to that _stupid_ witch, to a stupid _rock_ , than me. You would rather choose your loyalty to a past you hate, a past you could never talk to me about, than choose to care about me and what I think. After all this time, you hadn’t changed after all.” Varian bites his lip before opening his mouth, then closing it as he reconsiders what he is about to say. He turns his face away, his tears still glistening in the moonlight and his fists clenching.

Finally,he inhales deeply and shakily. “Didn’t ask for such a pathetic son, did you?” Varian hisses at the stranger in the eyes that shine back at him, and Cassandra wonders who it is Varian thinks he is talking to- her, Zhan Tiri, or his own father. “Well, _I_ didn’t ask for such a pathetic father.”

Cassandra feels a pang of pain strike her heart, threatening to penetrate it from where it burns a hole in her chest, but she tries to fend it off for as long as possible. This was meant to be vengeance-a way to knock the brat down a notch, give him pain when he had so foolishly believe he deserved anything else. But now, she feels she is looking at herself-what she had imagined herself to be saying to her father, who didn’t deserve such unkind words-and this father didn’t deserve such unkind words, either. At least, not with her still holding the reigns, forcing him to raise his hand and tongue against his own son. A sour taste blossoms at the back of Cassandra’s mouth, and the woman tries to swallow away the lump that forms in its stead. Quirin didn't deserve these words. Varian shouldn't be acting like this. Varian surely knew-he surely knew that his father was under an enchantment, didn't he?

Something was undoubtedly _wrong_ , and Cassandra would have withdrawn at that instant, had she not been pinned by Varian's glare and engrossed by this rare glimpse of what she had though was a composed, pathetically small, matured boy.

“Here I’ve been going about, thinking I only had to understand you, understand why you treated me the way you did, why you ignored me and pushed me aside, acting as though I never existed. I-I thought you had even begun to listen to me, to give a shit about me.” Varian bites out in contempt, the rage leaking into the way he paces, swinging the gun this way and that before flinging it against the wall, watching as the still-closed vial of amber roll harmlessly away from the rest of the gun. “Well, you know what? I don’t even want to know, Dad! I don’t want to understand your fucked up excuse of turning away from me, shunning me and shutting me down when you thought you knew what was best for me. I’m not going to try to understand you, I’m not even going to try to get through to you, because I know nothing I say will matter! It _never_ has! That’s why you’re here, trying to hurt your own son over a fucking rock. You never listened to me, and despite knowing how much it hurts me, you still _refuse_ to listen. You’re _still_ the same as you always were- stupid, stubborn, _pathetic_ -“ Varian wheezes out the word as though it causes him physical pain to even feel its texture on his tongue. “-and I’m sick of it, sick of it, _sick of it_!” His cries have escalated into full-fledged screams, the fire beginning to dwindle as it seeps and weeps under his weaning anger before the tears drown out his resolve, his voice. With every hollered word of his last sentence, Varian kicks at his gun mercilessly and repeatedly, stomping down days of meticulous planning and hard workin mere seconds.

Cassandra winces with every kick, watching this un-Varian creature spill words she had never dared to even think, words that felt more true, more real with every passing minute now that she dwelled on her father, her past, and of the unforgivable words she had uttered to him that barely skimmed the top of what Varian was accusing his poor old father of-

Was she as crazy as Varian?

Had Varian been right all along-was she going down the same path after all?

Had Varian been the monster she already was, or rather, merely a reflection of the greater monster _she_ is?

Could this be what she would become if she lost- a tormented shadow of a thing she once was, hollowed out by miseries and trauma buried far too deep for any love or kindness to reach, able to be reawakened in an instant at the slightest misstep, the slightest reminder that she didn’t matter?

Could she, like Varian, be a force to be reckoned with even when she felt so pathetically small?

But then- _then_ , Varian’s expression softens for but a minute, his eyes narrowing and blinking away tears as they watch her-no, him, his father. He must have noticed the blue glow of Quirin’s eyes dimming, her resolve crumbling, because a wide grin slowly begins to stretch across his face, looking gruesome against his bruised, tear-stained cheek.

Varian’s scrawny hands reach for Quirin, forcefully grab the edges of his father’s face, holding onto the strong jaw from where his arms extend outside of her line of vision, staring into his father’s eyes, Cassandra’s eyes, his voice scarily small as he grinds out his words with a fervent, unstoppable power she never knew he could possess. “Cassandra, you’d better be listening. When all of this is done, I’m going to fucking kill you.” He readily speaks in a low, somber tone, empty of all hesitance or regret as his emotionless eyes drill back into her, challenging her.

“I’m going to tear that rock from your chest, and I’m going to crush your skull with the shadow blade, and I’m gonna slowly cut each and every limb off of your bloody body while you scream and writhe in your agony, begging me to end your sorry life.” Varian then promises with a voice of steel, an almost sing-song delight to his tone as though he is imagining such a thing happening right in front of him. His voice tarries into a wistful, almost distant tone. “I don’t care how much Rapunzel cries for you. I don’t care that I’ll be rotting in prison again for the rest of my life. You, Cassandra, are going to rue the day you decided to walk back here, hiding in my father’s body and unable to confront the monster you’ve become like the pathetic coward you are.” Cassandra’s breath hitches in her throat, her heat hammering unhappily against her chest and her being petrified as her eyes fix on the way Varian’s continue to mercilessly stare at her without blinking, wide and ever-awake and so unlike the passionate, kind boy she had first seen long ago. “You are going to rue the day you even thought about bringing my father into this. You are going to rue the day you tried to walk over me again, thinking I’ve been kicked down just about enough.” He leans forward, far too close, so close that she thinks his nose presses against his father’s in the process, his eyes the only thing she can see-his terribly angry, vengeful, unrelenting eyes. “Do you hear me, _Cassie_?” Varian barks out in a voice dripping with lifeless scorn, his voice leveling into a hollow whisper. “I. Have. Had. Enough.”

Cassandra’s view of Varian’s eyes holds for a few more seconds before it snaps to black in an instant.

Cassandra opens her eyes and stare into space, jaw agape, gasping as she feel her own thoughts hit her tenfold, now refreshed and startlingly unfamiliar with the aroma of her own mind after being trying to control another for so long. She drops the Mind Trap, hearing its clamor as it skids across the floor of her lair, and runs her fingers through her hair frantically, the action doing little to soothe her. She tries to shake off the realizations now entrenched in her pool of doubts and insecurities, a drop of poison that ruined the entire ocean of plans and bold talks and fleeting bouts of anger that had once made her feel powerful.

Her heart races as she struggles to recollect her thoughts, but the memory of what has just occurred is still fresh, and the very real threat drifts in and out of her mind with the frigid breeze of the night and the sleeping promise of a new day when she can summon the rest of the Brotherhood and put them to good use.

The mind is a scarily small place, and yet, with the world nearly at her fingertips, never has she felt so lost.

**Author's Note:**

> ...Cass, you just poked the wrong boi.
> 
> I had planned a more...depressing and dark end, but I find the idea of unhinged Varian oddly satisfying and enjoyable...if not a little unsettling.
> 
> What do you think?


End file.
